


we blend into my favorite color

by hot_damn_louis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College Student Stiles Stilinski, Emotional Constipation, Getting Back Together, M/M, Married Couple, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, One Shot, Post-Break Up, Secret Relationship, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, True Love, cannot express their feelings, sheriff is retiring, stupid idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27277468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hot_damn_louis/pseuds/hot_damn_louis
Summary: “Have you talked to Scott? Or Derek? Seems like y’all were all close before you left,” John asked.He was doing the dad thing that he always did. He would ask innocent questions when he really wanted more expressive answers, and Stiles was not going to buy into this tactic today. He had a lot on his mind, and it had a lot more to do with the ring on the chain around his neck than whether or not he had talked to Scott or Derek recently.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 5
Kudos: 248





	we blend into my favorite color

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! 
> 
> I just really love writing established relationships, or getting back together relationships. I wanted to write something kind of chaotic and fun but emotional. Enjoy!
> 
> I always love and appreciate comments and kudos. Y'all really keep me going and keep me wanting to write.

Stiles marked another day on his calendar, the looming circled date only a few days away. He was returning to Beacon Hills for his father’s retirement, and he was not necessarily excited about that particular fact. Not that he wasn’t excited about his dad retiring, but he was not excited about seeing Scott. Or Derek. Or anyone. 

His hand came up to the chain around his neck, the ring dangling from it, reminding him every day of the fact that he moved away to get a doctorate, and that everyone hated him for that. They hated him for trying to do what was best for his own academic career, and pretended as if he was leaving them forever. At this point, Stiles didn’t give a shit. He wanted to leave them forever. He could feel the spite in his bones. 

“You gonna keep moaning over the calendar or are you going to take me out?” Elyse said, sliding up behind Stiles. 

He stepped away from her pointedly, not wanting to engage in anything. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m not interested like that?”

“I’m only teasing, big guy. I’m hoping one day you’ll change your mind,” Elyse said, smoothing her hair back. 

“Let me just get that book you need, and you’ll be on your way,” Stiles said, stepping around her to walk down to his room. 

He had to dig through a few stacks, and he was almost reluctant to let this one go knowing that it would be hard to get back, but he brought her the book on California specific mythology. He loved that damn book. Before he handed it over, he pushed a little of his own magic into it, knowing that way he could find it again if she somehow didn’t give it back. 

“With how cold you are to me, it’s almost as if you’re in a relationship. But I know you’re not,” Elyse said, smoothing her hands down over her skirt. She was wearing a tight skirt, and a top that shoved her clevage up to her collarbone. 

Stiles would have broken her heart if he told her she was the wrong gender, all things considered. 

“Well, now you’ve got the book. I’ll see you on Tuesday at our next meeting,” Stiles said, walking her to the door. He all but shoved her out, knowing that she was not particularly happy about this point. 

Teach undergrad students, they said. It will be an easy way to pay for school, they said. What they didn’t say was that some of them would become obsessed and find your address, only to try and hit on you in your own home and beg for a book that you don’t really want to give them. 

Stiles got down a bottle of wine, quickly pulling the cork. He bypassed a glass and chugged it straight out of the bottle, trying to forget his evening, and trying to forget what would happen in a few days. Fuck. 

***

It had only been a few months since he had moved to Los Angeles for his pHd. He told everyone at the start of summer, and no one understood that this was important for him. He told Derek even earlier, and somehow he was harder to convince that it was a good choice. He left Beacon Hills with everyone either mad or displeased with him, including his own father, who was merely disappointed that he would ruin his relationships in favor of going for a pHd. 

It was a pHd! He was accepted into a pHd program with funding! How everyone thought that it was a bad thing was insane. It was clearly one of the best things that had happened to Stiles, and considering most of his strong memories of Beacon Hills involved his friends being hurt or his mom dying, he was not necessarily attached to the place as tightly as everyone thought. 

It was almost as if trauma was a good way to drive people away. Huh. 

He tried to ignore his phone ringing for as long as possible, but when he saw it was his father calling, he had to answer. Even though he didn’t want to. 

“Hey dad,” Stiles answered, grabbing a duffel bag down from the top of his closet. “I’m kind of packing for your retirement event, so I don’t have time to talk,” Stiles added, closing his eyes and hoping for agreement from his father. 

“Put me on speaker and pack if you’re so worried,” John said. “Besides, you’re supposed to be driving up tomorrow, and it’s nearly 9pm,” he added, sounding vaguely concerned. 

“Cramming at the last minute is my specialty,” Stiles said, sighing a little as he put his dad on speaker, propping his phone on the top of his dresser. Not ideal, but he really needed to pack and mentally prepare. He didn’t have time to waste on a phone call. 

“Have you talked to Scott? Or Derek? Seems like y’all were all close before you left,” John asked. He was doing the dad thing that he always did. He would ask innocent questions when he really wanted more expressive answers, and Stiles was not going to buy into this tactic today. He had a lot on his mind, and it had a lot more to do with the ring on the chain around his neck than whether or not he had talked to Scott or Derek recently. 

“No, dad. This work is kind of intensive, and I really didn’t want to burden either of them with anything. Besides, I’ve got Lydia on campus working on her second pHd, and I talk to her,” Stiles said, lying through his teeth. 

It wasn’t totally a lie. Lydia was on campus with him on occasions, and she was everyone’s least favorite teacher, but they had barely spoken. They went out for drinks on Stiles' first night, and had barely texted since then. They were both busy, and she sort of figured out what was plaguing Stiles very quickly. She hated emotions as much as Stiles loved avoiding his problems. 

“As long as you’re not hiding out in your apartment and ignoring all of your friends. You know that’s not healthy,” John said, sounding very much like the dad that Stiles had always been fond of. 

“Dad, don’t worry so much about me. I’m totally fine,” Stiles said. It was only half true. And someone should probably worry about him, but not in the overbearing way that Scott and Derek did. He wanted kind, firm, and gentle worrying. Not aggressive, throwing things and screaming at each other worrying. It was no fun when Stiles had to throw a shoe. 

“I put you next to Derek at my table. Scott and Melissa are on my other side. Figured that would be good for everyone,” John said. He was completely oblivious of Stiles’ falling out with both of them then. This would be thoroughly awkward for all. 

“Are you sure they aren’t just using your retirement to throw a big party for the sheriff’s department?” Stiles asked, throwing a few shirts onto his bed. He tried not to think too hard about what he was doing, or what he would look like. He had no one to impress anymore, anyways, didn’t he? He had his heart broken, so it wasn’t as if he wanted to be seen as desirable. 

(Some part of him, deep down, really wanted to look smoking hot the whole time he was in Beacon Hills. Partially to throw it back in everyone’s faces, and partially in case the one person he cared about still cared about him.)

“Do you see anyone complaining? I think everyone needs some partying,” John said. 

“Fine. but I have to leave first thing Monday morning because I can’t just skip out on all of my classes I’m teaching. They’d pull my funding or some dumb bullshit,” Stiles said, pulling his cute underwear out of his drawer. 

“I’ll make sure to wake you up with an alarm and everything,” John said. If Stiles could see him, he would be shaking his head in amusement. 

“I’m going to go and finish packing, dad. See you tomorrow afternoon,” Stiles said, not waiting for a response before hanging up. 

He let out a quick breath through his mouth, grabbing his hair and pulling it a little bit. He had so much he wanted to avoid, and so many feelings he wasn’t ready to confront yet. Fuck. 

***

When he finally pulled up to his dad’s house a little before dinner, Stiles was exhausted. He was not really prepared for the fact that he was here, in the same small town that he grew up in, and was going to see the same people that were pissed at him to begin with. He wanted to hide in his car and pretend like he wasn’t home, and maybe turn invisible or something. 

He drug his bag inside, not expecting to see Scott and Melissa at the dining table, all having an afternoon coffee or something. Stiles stopped dead in his own house, his bag slipping off his shoulder and hitting the floor heavily. He had his suit bag in the car, and he was glad he didn’t have that to drop. 

“Fuck,” Stiles said, leaning down to pick up his bag. 

“Language,” John said tiredly, only putting half the energy into it. 

“Sorry, dad,” Stiles said, grabbing his bag. “My laptop’s in here, so I was worried about dropping it. I’m going to put this up in my room,” Stiles said, pointing up the stairs. He rushed upstairs quickly, trying to make it look like he wasn’t running away from Scott and Melissa. 

He was actually running away from his problems, but he wasn’t going to say that to his dad. 

Unconsciously he reached up and grabbed the ring, clutching it tight in his hand, trying to squeeze some sense of bravery and normalcy into his body. He did not want to have the confrontation that was about to happen, and he wasn’t ready to reveal how shitty his life was to his dad yet. 

“Hey,” Scott said from the doorway, scaring Stiles. 

“Shit,” Stiles said, spinning around quickly. “Can you wear a bell or something? I hate when you sneak up on me,” Stiles said, attempting to be playful. It came across as kind of snappy and rude, but it was too late to take the words back once they were already out there. 

“Sorry,” Scott said simply, as if that was enough for anything. 

“Look, I don’t want to get into it today,” Stiles said, his fingers playing with the ring. Scott’s eyes were drawn to the movement of his hand, and Stiles hastily tucked it back into his shirt, not letting Scott see what it was. “I want to have dinner with my dad and pretend like everyone still likes me, and you don’t owe me that, but let’s save this argument for later,” Stiles continued, completely plowing over anything that Scott would have to say. 

“Fine,” Scott said, his voice clipped. It seemed as if he had more to say, but he closed his mouth tight. He opened it once more, as if reconsidering his decision to stay quiet. “Are you going to see Derek later?”

A lump quickly formed in Stiles’ throat, his heartbeat kicking up with nerves. “Wasn’t necessarily planning on it. Kind of wanted to ignore the whole situation,” Stiles said, pressing his lips together. “Don’t want to be yelled at,” he added, much quieter. 

“What makes you think he’d yell?” Scott asked, his voice completely serious. 

There were so many reasons why he would yell at Stiles. Scream at him for how selfish he was, shout about how he was throwing away half of his life by leaving, throw things because he was angry and not sure how to express it. And then Stiles would throw things right back, because they were actually children and not grown adults. They would act like violence could somehow help the pain in their chests, and that breaking things would somehow fix them. 

“Let’s just have dinner and pretend like nothing is wrong,” Stiles suggested, hoping that Scott would at least agree to that. 

“Fine,” Scott said quickly, turning and walking right out of Stiles’ room. 

Well. Fuck.

***

Stiles had barely laid in his bed for a whole minute after dinner when the window slid open, Derek sliding through like he had when Stiles was a teenager. It almost made Stiles laugh thinking about how different they were now, and how much further apart they were now than they were back then. 

“I see some things haven’t changed,” Stiles said, sitting up quickly. “Couldn’t knock on the front door? My dad likes you now,” Stiles added, gesturing towards his own bedroom door. 

“Didn’t want him to know I was here,” Derek said, looking anywhere but Stiles’ face. He eventually focused his eyes on the ground, his hands clenching and unclenching in fists. 

“I would have appreciated a little warning,” Stiles said, his hand shifting to grab at his necklace. Looking at who was in the room, he hastily let go, letting it thunk back against his chest under his shirt. That was one thing he didn’t want Derek to notice. 

“I didn’t think we did warnings anymore,” Derek said quietly. His voice sounded heartbreakingly haunting. He sounded hurt, and the tone of his voice made Stiles feel almost guilty for saying anything. Derek always had a way of doing this to him. 

“That’s not really what I meant, Der—” Stiles started, not even sure what he was going to say or where he was going with the whole thing. 

“I have some of your stuff, and if you want it I can return it to you,” Derek said quickly, interrupting Stiles. “That’s all I came to say.”

“We can talk about it on Sunday,” Stiles said, clasping his hands together in front of him. He wanted to squeeze his eyes shut and block out the image of Derek neatly packing his stuff into boxes, of him labeling them and making sure that their stuff was totally separated. 

“You’re sticking around?” Derek asked. There was the barest indication of hope in his voice, and some part of Stiles felt bad about allowing it. 

(He also hated that he could read Derek so well, because it meant that he knew exactly what he was thinking and how he felt right now. He could almost picture this exact conversation if they both had more energy, or more investment in each other besides barren hope and a twisted sense of separation without closure. He could picture them hurling insults and trying to figure things out while butting heads, but now they were barely whispering in his childhood bedroom, and all Stiles wanted to do was hug Derek and see if that helped.)

“My dad wanted me to stay a week, but we compromised with the weekend,” Stiles said, shrugging. “I have work in LA, and I can’t just skip out on that.”

“Forgot that LA was so much more important than here,” Derek muttered, turning away. He shook his head, his hands clenching at his sides. “See you.” He leapt out the window quickly, disappearing into the night as if he had never been there to begin with. 

Fuck.

***

Stiles hated the way that his suit looked. He hated the fact that it was not particularly well tailored, and he hated that he had somehow lost some weight between leaving Beacon Hills and now. He had to cinch his belt one tighter, and the shoulders of his suit jacket looked a little limp. He stared at himself in the dirty full length mirror on the back of his door, wishing that he could look different, or at least feel different. 

(Wearing a suit reminded him of that day, but he wasn’t going to think about that.)

He switched out his suit jacket for a vest that he could cinch together in the back, pulling out a bowtie and hoping it was formal enough for the occasion. He wished that a formal jacket would work, but he couldn’t picture himself in it anymore. Not right now, at least. 

With the shirt buttoned all the way and the bowtie on, no one could see the chain holding the ring dangling down his shirt. It was well hidden by the layers, and he wouldn’t have questions asked about it. If he had worn a suit jacket, collar open or closed, he would have had to remove it so that it didn’t make a lump underneath his button up. 

“Fuck me,” Stiles said, looking at himself. He said it in a non-appreciative manner, because looking at himself made him want to drive away and never return. He couldn’t even picture seeing his friends all dressed up, knowing that things were different now. 

Would Kira have a baby bump showing? They had been trying before Stiles had left. Would Parrish show up, pining after Lydia who would likely not consider him ever again? Would Isaac be there, still spouting French and pretending like that was cool? Would Stiles have to make idle chat with Derek, only to realize that it felt good, like it used to?

Stiles squatted down, tucking his head between his knees. He tried so hard not to let the words overwhelm him, but right now it was even harder to push any of the negativity away. He wanted to do better, but what did better even mean anymore?

Pulling himself back together, he walked down the stairs, waiting for his father. He was going to make sure he had a great day. 

***

“Never thought I’d be this old,” his dad said after accepting some flowers and a plaque from the new Sheriff. They were piled on the table like a centerpiece, showing off that his father was accomplished, and despite some hiccups, he was finally of an age where he was fit to retire from formal duty. 

“What are you going to do now?” Derek asked politely, his hand fiddling with his napkin. 

Since they had all sat down thirty minutes ago, Derek had whittled his paper napkin down, the scraps of it lying underneath his chair. The whole time they had ignored each other, pretending like their chairs weren’t mere inches from each other, and that they didn’t have nearly a decade of knowing each other under their belts. 

Derek looked so fucking hot, with his suit jacket and his tie neatly tied, and the way his dress pants clung to his ass. He was everything out of a Stiles-wet-dream, and it was hard to ignore that he was sitting next to Stiles, acting almost nervous. 

Stiles wanted to make small talk, to at least have something to do besides be in his own head about everything, but he couldn’t. Small talk wasn’t something he did with Derek, ever. It would be stupid to start now. 

“Probably continue on as a consultant. Maybe go back to woodworking or something,” John said, shrugging. 

“Promise to build me a new bedside table? Mine broke underneath my pile of books,” Stiles said, trying to lighten the mood slightly. 

“Only if you stop picking up furniture off the street like it’s a lost puppy,” John quipped back. 

This felt nice. Almost normal, even. The small back and forths felt like something Stiles could do, even if he normally would have been rambling about his dissertation by now. He watched Derek’s hands whittle at the napkin more, shredding it slightly quicker now. Stiles patted his necklace underneath his shirt, feeling the outline of the ring as a subtle reminder of his own shittiness. 

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Stiles announced, interrupting something that Melissa was saying. He pushed away from the table, trying to ignore the claustrophobic feeling in his throat. It wasn’t until he was out of the room that it started to subside, his heart racing without purpose anymore. 

Stiles pulled his bowtie free and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, tugging his necklace free so he could see the ring. Inscribed in the inside of it was a simple phrase:  _ Not without you _ . It used to mean so much, but now it felt useless in the face of Stiles’ own decisions. 

He made the right decisions about his life, but he fucked up everything else while doing so. He couldn’t imagine still living in Beacon Hills, pretending like everything was fine, yet he couldn’t imagine living outside of Beacon Hills without everyone. Without Derek.

At the other end of the hall the doors opened, but Stiles didn’t think much about it. He sat on the floor, hoping that the cold linoleum would somehow shock him back into being a decent human being instead of the walking asshole that everyone thought he was. He wanted to be loved by those he loved, and he wanted to be seen and known instead of ridiculed and ignored. 

“What are you doing,” Derek said quietly, his feet stopping in front of Stiles. 

“‘Not without you’”, Stiles read from the ring. “That used to mean something, you know. It used to mean a lot.”

Derek turned, sliding down next to Stiles on the wall. “What are you doing. With the ring.” His face was completely unreadable, his eyes focused only on where Stiles’ fingers were deftly twisting the ring, pulling at it where it was looped on the chain. 

“I wear it. Not on my hand, since I didn’t know whether or not you still wanted me to do that,” Stiles said, shrugging. “Harder to explain to people that I’m married when I’m not technically with you anymore,” Stiles added, his thumb rubbing across the ring in the way he always did, in the way that comforted him. 

“You wear it?” Derek asked, sounding almost surprised, considering the careful schooling of his voice to a neutral tone. His hand reached out and took Stiles’ ring, pulling it so that it was close to him again. The ring was warm with touch, and seeing Derek’s thick fingers handling it was almost too much for Stiles’ heart. 

“Look, I get if you don’t want me wearing it at all, or want it back, but we didn’t talk about that before I left, and I wanted to keep pretending that it wasn’t completely over—” Stiles rambled, wanting to tug the ring back from Derek’s hand. 

“But why,” Derek said, interrupting Stiles. He looked up into his eyes for the first time since Stiles had come back. 

Their eye contact was always electric, filled with want and need and something even deeper that neither of them ever really understood. Even now, when they were disagreeing, when they were not on solid footing, one look and Stiles wanted to wrap himself in Derek and feel that same love he was so used to feeling. He wanted to hold Derek’s face in his own and smooth his hands across his cheekbones, kiss his dimples and wrap himself in how strong Derek was. 

“I’m an asshole, and I know everyone thinks it because I chose myself and my career over staying in Beacon Hills, but I don’t regret one minute of it. I would have been miserable if I stayed, and I’m miserable now that I’ve left. My own demise was inevitable,” Stiles said, looking away, breaking eye contact. He stood, wanting to turn and run away, to leave now before they got into an argument or said things they shouldn’t. 

“I wish you would have said that four months ago, or six months ago,” Derek said, standing quickly. “Stiles,” he said, his voice alone commanding Stiles’ attention. 

Stiles turned quickly, not sure what he was supposed to do now. “I told you I wanted to do this, and what it would take, and you said yes. Maybe I should have asked you formally to come to LA with me, but fuck, Derek, we’re fucking married! I thought that we would go everywhere together. I was not expecting you to decide to stay,” Stiles said, his own frustration building up in his throat. 

“It’s not even about that!” Derek said, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s about the fact that I asked about jobs in LA for me and you said it was my problem, or the fact that you said absolutely nothing to me about packing when you started labeling boxes for yourself. I thought you were trying to get away from me, to subtlety tell me that you wanted to separate.”

“Separate? I wanted you to come with me!” Stiles said, completely surprised. “I thought you wanted a divorce, and I didn’t understand why, and—”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupted, grabbing at one of Stiles’ flailing hands. “You made us keep our relationship a secret for years, and when we barely started to tell people, you said we had to get married in secret. What the fuck was I supposed to do with a secret marriage? Your dad thought that we had broke it off amicably when you left for LA!” Derek said, his voice getting louder. 

“I never explicitly said that,” Stiles tried to argue. 

But the thing was, he did. When they were together, he didn’t want to tell his dad until they had moved in together. And then, only a year after they had moved in together, they got married at the courthouse with Lydia as their witness. They wore suits and everything, but they never told anyone. Not even Scott. Not even when they had the rings done and wore them in private, tucking them onto necklaces for everyday wear. 

“Our rings are inscribed with ‘Not without you’, and then you decide to make a bunch of decisions without me. I thought that we were done,” Derek said, sliding his hand into his pocket. He pulled out a matching chain with his own ring from his pocket, showing that he had it with him the whole time. 

“Fuck, I fucked up so bad,” Stiles said, turning away. He couldn’t decide between grovelling eternally or vomiting, and both were things he never thought would happen. 

“Stiles, we both fucked up,” Derek said, tugging at Stiles’ shoulder. 

Stiles spun and wrapped Derek up into a hug, holding him tight, like he never wanted to let go. He wanted to press Derek’s face into his neck and stroke his hair and know that he was loved. That didn’t feel like too much to ask for. 

There was so much he needed to fix, to try and make work again. He wanted so badly to hold Derek tight and whisper their apologies to each other for the next few days, hoping that it would be enough to start putting the pieces back together again. 

“I am so sorry, Der. I should have talked to you and made you feel loved and welcome,” Stiles whispered, clutching onto Derek. 

“I’m sorry for staying and for not running after you,” Derek whispered back, his hands stroking the small of Stiles’ back. 

“I have so much to apologize for,” Stiles whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t believe you didn’t call me on my bullshit or tell me I should have made us more of an us. I was so scared of losing you that I didn’t want to share you with anyone,” Stiles added, sliding back so that they were pressed cheek to cheek. 

“It’s okay. It’s not all your fault,” Derek said, leaning his head into Stiles.

“I just talk over you and ramble, and sometimes I say things I shouldn’t, or I don’t say things at all and just assume that you can read my mind, and Der, I don’t want to walk all over you anymore. Interrupt me, tell me I’m wrong, tell me when I’m talking—” 

Derek leaned back, pressing a quick kiss to Stiles’ lips, stopping him in his tracks. 

“What was that for?” Stiles asked, almost startled. 

“Wanted to,” Derek said, shrugging. 

“We have to go back in there and pretend like everything is fine, and you’re going to kiss me? When I’m emotionally fragile? When I want to make up for the fact that I’ve totally fucked up our marriage?” Stiles asked, his hand stroking across Derek’s cheekbone like he wanted to. 

“We can make small talk. You can grovel later,” Derek said, his hands squeezing at Stiles’ sides. “If we skip out on the rest of the party, that’s bad,” Derek added, his hands sliding away from Stiles. 

“He’ll think that his seating chart hooked us back up,” Stiles said, nodding. “But I want to fix us, and grovel and apologize and talk about our feelings,” Stiles added, as if this part was obvious. 

“Later,” Derek said, leaning in to peck him again. “When we don’t have people waiting on us.”

Stiles grumbled. In his eyes, this was completely stupid and irrational. Any normal person would be running away to fix their marriage, or at least have a deeper conversation about needs and communication. No sane person in their right mind would share apologies and then decide to go back to the party they were at. It makes no sense. 

On the other hand, Stiles knew the implications of them leaving right now, even if it wasn’t to have intense makeup sex. His dad didn’t know the whole story, and the issues between them certainly weren’t going to be fixed in a day. Having some shared normal conversation at a table with friends and family might actually be helpful for them trying to find their grove together as a couple. 

“You think you’re so smart,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “Trying to make this party work for us through it’s small talk and inability to discuss intense issues,” Stiles continued, rambling as he followed Derek back to the ballroom. 

“Maybe I want to slowdance with you,” Derek said, as if this was obvious. 

Stiles’ heart skipped a beat at the thought of that. He hated the pointed look at his chest, and the acknowledgement of Derek’s own emotional reader. He probably knew how intensely Stiles felt without having to tell him, and while that sort of felt like cheating sometimes, it felt like they were moving faster back to a common point. 

“At least one,” Stiles said quickly, following Derek as they moved through the doors again. 

***

Somehow, seeing Derek voluntarily at a park was more nerve wracking than seeing him when he thought Derek hated him. Knowing that they had a miscommunication was somehow so much harder on Stiles’ well being, because it meant that it could be fixed through hard work, not shattered into a million pieces that was unfixable. It meant that Stiles had to do the hard work and hope that who he was as a person was enough for Derek to accept him back. 

“I’m so fucking nervous,” Stiles said instead of a greeting when he approached Derek. He rubbed his hands on his pants, wanting not to fiddle with his wedding ring. He thought that might be disrespectful. 

“You got through the retirement thing. You’re fine,” Derek said, gesturing for Stiles to sit next to him on the park bench. 

“Why this spot?” Stiles asked, gesturing to where they were sitting. 

“First time we kissed,” Derek said, shrugging. 

That day was like no other. It was fall, only a few months after Stiles had graduated high school and one week before he was to start college. He and Scott were going to commute the thirty minutes to the big university because they could, and he was sort of excited to go to school and pretend like he was an adult. 

He and Derek had gotten food together and walked through the park, sitting on the bench. As they were about to leave, Derek pulled at Stiles’ hand and kissed him firmly. 

They didn’t start dating for another year, but it was the first time they had kissed. It was perfect, at least in Stiles’ mind. 

“It’s still a favorite memory,” Stiles said, sliding closer so that his shoulder was pressed up against Derek’s. “Makes me wonder why I ever thought we were breaking up to begin with,” Stiles said, wanting to get to the quick of the conversation. 

“Let’s promise to never do something so stupid again,” Derek said, pressing his lips tight together. “When we make a decision, we make it together.”

“Agreed. Heartily. I never want to make a decision without talking to you again. Hell, I’ll even call you before deciding which brand of cheese to buy,” Stiles said, biting his lip. “If it means that I can hold your hand and love you like I want to, I’ll do anything.”

Derek smiled, tilting his hand so his palm was face up. It was a clear invitation for Stiles to slide their hands together, their fingers intertwining. “It’s not going to be perfect,” Derek said, stating the obvious. 

“I don’t care. I love you,” Stiles said, squeezing Derek’s hand. “I fucked up, and I want you to know that my feelings have never changed. Not even wavered.”

“I love you too,” Derek whispered, pulling Stiles’ hand onto his lap, holding the two of them tight together. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, their breathing synching up. Stiles couldn’t hear heart beats, but he sort of bet that their hearts started to beat together again. It felt like it did before, when they would sit and have dinner together, and slide the rings onto each other’s fingers like they did the day they got married. 

“I want to tell my dad we’re married. To prove to you that I’m dead serious about making everything right between us again,” Stiles said, very determined. It was the one thing he could do as a big gesture to suggest that they would make it, and that Stiles was wholly invested in loving him and treating him right. 

“You don’t have to,” Derek said, his voice quiet. 

Stiles knew he didn’t have to, but he wanted to. He didn’t want to hide his relationship anymore, not in the most important way. He wanted them to be together wholly and completely, and it wasn’t fair to Derek that they had to lie about being married to anyone. Considering that Derek didn’t have any family left, and that they barely had each other at times, Stiles wanted him to know that he was proud of Derek, and proud of their relationship. 

“If I could shout it from the rooftops right now, I would. Because I want to make this work. Fuck, Der, I’ll leave my program and come back up here if you said the word,” Stiles said, tugging at Derek’s hand. 

Derek turned to look at him, his eye contact fierce. “Do not leave that program. I was so proud of you for getting into it. Still am,” Derek said, his eyes intense. 

“Then let’s tell them we’re married. It’s close to our first anniversary anyways,” Stiles said, leaning into Derek’s shoulder. 

“Or we just keep saying we’re not married. Pull the biggest prank on them,” Derek said, tilting his head so he rested on top of Stiles’. They sat like that for a few minutes, breathing and experiencing each other again. It had been so long since they had been near each other, or with each other. Right now, it was hard to remember why they had ever separated. 

“Can we be done with serious talk today? I want to get ice cream and act like we’re on a date,” Stiles said, squeezing Derek’s hand. “I’ll even pay, show you that I’m still heartily in love with you,” Stiles added, trying to make it obvious how much he cared. 

“Stiles,” Derek deadpanned, lifting his head to look at him. “We have a joint bank account.”

“But my money still goes in there! It counts,” Stiles argued, making a pouty face. “Don’t tell me that buying ice cream and holding hands is not a good investment.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Fine.” 

When they stood up, there was a slightly awkward moment as they realized they had driven separately. It was small, inconsequential, but the thought of it was only a reminder of what their situation was a few days ago. Even hours ago. They halted at the parking lot, not looking at each other, neither wanting to say anything that could somehow make things worse. 

“We can drive there separately. Act like it’s a date. We never actually went on many of those,” Stiles said, pressing his lips together. 

“See you there,” Derek said simply, heading off towards his own car. 

Alone, Stiles let out a whoosh of air, bending down to grab his knees. It felt like the rug had been pulled out from underneath him in the best way. Like everything he had thought he had done wrong was not actually that bad, and that this was nothing more than a hiccup in the road of their relationship. 

He wasn’t fucked anymore. 

***

Stiles was sort of grateful for the fact that things didn’t go back to normal quickly, because that would have warranted phone calls and conversations with people who weren’t Derek. He liked that they had gotten back together privately. He liked that no one knew their business, and that they could process and move through this hard moment together. 

Derek stopped by to ‘give Stiles some stuff’ before he left Monday morning, and they talked off to the side where John couldn’t hear them. 

“Let’s talk tomorrow, okay? Plan a visit or something,” Stiles said, glancing over Derek’s shoulder at where his dad was clearly trying to eavesdrop in on the two of them. 

“Ease back into things,” Derek said, nodding. “And your dad still doesn’t know?”

Stiles shook his head. “Never showed him the ring. He probably thinks we’re trying to amicably break up right now. Or amicably become friends? I didn’t realize how big of a fan he was until now,” Stiles said. 

“Did you talk to Scott?” Derek asked, keeping his head down. 

“He didn’t talk to me. I might call him when I get back, just to try and figure things out. I can’t imagine he’s still fuming about me leaving,” Stiles said. 

“Is a hug too weird?” Derek asked shyly. 

Stiles pulled him in with one arm, the other holding the box of stuff. “Nah. But we can throw stuff at each other if you really want to be dramatic,” Stiles whispered, his hand gripping the back of Derek’s neck. 

When they parted, it felt weird to drive away, knowing that they were going to be separated by 6 hours of driving for the foreseeable future. Even though they had just started making up, there was something deep in Stiles’ gut that told him they would be together at full force again soon. He had to believe that, based on how everything else was going. He couldn’t imagine them taking a nosedive now. 

The next two weeks were a relief and strangely peaceful for Stiles. Phone calls every night and plans with Derek lifted his spirits, and his students stopped calling him grumpy behind his back. Elyse even stopped hitting on him once he put his ring on his finger, displaying it proudly instead of hanging it around his neck. 

(He might have even flaunted Derek around campus to all of his friends and his colleagues. If he had a hot husband, he was going to show him off. Especially when everyone thought that Stiles was a perpetually single nerd.) 

“I want to post a picture of us,” Stiles said, straddling Derek’s lap on his couch. “I know you hate selfies, but I want to have evidence that we were sickeningly cute.”

“Fine,” Derek huffed, his arms tightening around Stiles’ waist. 

“Take the photo? You have longer arms,” Stiles said, wiggling in Derek’s lap. He handed him his phone, and Derek reached his arm out to take the photo. Instead of showing his face, Derek pressed a kiss to Stiles’ cheek. Stiles brought his left hand up to cradle Derek’s face, smiling brightly at the camera. 

“That’s the only one I’m taking,” Derek growled, pressing his face into Stiles’ neck. 

“It’s already posted, so I don’t really care how good it looks,” Stiles said, tossing his phone aside. 

He heard it buzzing in the background, but his brain was sort of focused on fucking Derek’s brains out. He wanted to rock his world, even though they already had it on lock and key. But he didn’t think married sex had to be boring, and he certainly wasn’t going to make it any more boring on purpose. He still had things he wanted to try and positions he wanted to be fucked in. 

It wasn’t until they had finished defiling the couch that Stiles had recognized the continuous buzzing of his phone. “Is someone fucking dying, or can they let us afterglow in peace,” Stiles muttered, reaching down to the floor to grab it. 

“Don’t move,” Derek grumbled, grabbing at Stiles’ hips, leaning forward to nip at his collarbone. “Can’t let you go,” Derek growled into his skin, sucking a love bite onto Sitles’ chest. 

The notifications of Stiles’ phone were blowing up with messages and calls, most of which were from his dad and Scott. There were so many Instagram messages from all of his friends, and he wasn’t even sure what the basis was for it. “What the hell,” Stiles muttered, ignoring the way that Derek’s teeth were biting into his skin. 

Stiles clicked on his dad’s texts first. His father never texted, and certainly wasn’t the kind of person to leave four texts and almost ten calls. There was probably a voicemail or two, but Stiles didn’t have time to listen to that right now.  _ You and Derek are married?!? _ the text read. 

“Did you tell my dad we were married?” Stiles asked, frowning down at his phone. His dad referenced Instagram in his very dad way, so Stiles opened up the photo he had just posted. 

Unconsciously, Stiles had his left hand on Derek’s cheek, his wedding ring on full display in the cheesy photo he had posted. He had forgotten that he was even wearing it since he had given himself permission in LA. He and Derek acted completely like a married couple here, rather than the distanced versions of themself that they played in Beacon Hills. 

“What,” Derek said, tugging at Stiles’ phone to see what the fuss was about. “Oh, fuck. You kind of told everyone,” Derek said, gesturing towards the ring on Stiles’ finger. 

“I kind of did,” Stiles said, his free hand sliding into Derek’s hair. 

“Good. They know I love you,” Derek said, dipping to openly kiss at Stiles’ neck, his hands digging into his ass. 

“Fuck it,” Stiles said, throwing his phone back down. “I love my husband,” Stiles murmured, pulling Derek’s face to his own. 

“Talk dirty to me,” Derek said. 


End file.
